


Tattercoats

by Sans Seraph (themothandthestars)



Series: A Fairy Tale Love [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Characters to be added, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, psudo-victorian AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 01:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3362171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themothandthestars/pseuds/Sans%20Seraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tattercoats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bellacatbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellacatbee/gifts).



> This was supposed to be my Dean/Cas Secret Santa gift for Bella. Yes, this is the day after Valentine's, and it's still only about a third of the way done. 
> 
> I'm sorry I'm rubbish, but I loved the idea and it ran away from me. A lot.

It wasn't hard to understand, Father simply needed strong alpha offspring to carry on the family name. So it was only more of their unnatural poor luck that Father _got_ was altogether different.

His Royal Highness had seven surviving children, and only three confirmed alphas. There was still hope for little Hael, of course, born the first, loudest and strongest of the twins, but sweet little Sammy was an altogether different story. Michael and Gabriel and Raphaelle would simply need to garner the best match they could-a spouse with a good name and deep pockets to lend them the prestige to overshadow the memory of their estranged brother. 

And that meant getting rid of the family embarrassment as quickly and quietly as possible. 

It might have been easier on everyone if he'd only been born female, but, well, Castiel was nothing if not troublesome. His dear sister Anna, only two years his senior and even now awash in suitors, only raised a few, stuffy old eyebrows. Not that he'd fault anyone for it-Anna may have been an obstinate, willful creature, unfashionably in all the ways that might damn a lesser woman. But she was also beautiful of face, kind, and intelligent, and most importantly-a princess of the blood, second only to Raphaelle. More than enough to forgive any fault for whoever managed to catch her. 

And then there was him. Strange Castiel, too tall and too athletic for an omega, with hair that never managed to lay flat, and an unnatural love for learning. He may have been a prince, but only Samandriel was younger, and Michael would be the soul heir of a monarchy on the wrong side of a people's rebellion. It hardly made for a fairy tale romance. 

No, it really wasn't hard at all to see why they both had to be married, and in a hurry. They would have the shooting season to find and wed a suitable match, so that his siblings would have the spring and summer to themselves. It was like a Shakespearean comedy come to life, and he was stuck in the roll of Kate. 

Still, Castiel is a good son. He will do as he is bid. Family comes first, and his own happiness didn't matter in the long run. 

Castiel is reminding himself of that for the third time just today, though the face in his mirror doesn't exactly look convinced yet. In fact, it looked rather pale and tired, his eyes too big for his face, and bruised. He chose to blame it on the start black of his coat. Neither a lady's gown nor a gentleman's tails, it's lightly bustled and falls to his knees in carefully maintained folds of crepe. Social niceties may have demanded omegas and young girls dress in all the shades of Jordan Almonds, and drape themselves in delicate, fussy fabrics, but in this, at least, he was allowed some leeway. With less than a year gone since Mother had finally succumbed to her consumption-to say nothing of Luc-the austere pintucks and carriage pleats, the lusterless fabric and jewelry of mourning suited his mood perfectly. 

A rapping on his door is probably one of the twins, come to plead-or bully, should it be Hael-him into position in the drawing room. Young omegas, of course, don't take part in the social season. Not like an alpha debutant. Though he's heard rumor of other countries fawning over their omegas like a pretty girl at her first ball, there was no coming out for the unlucky offspring of the citizens of Levare-no dances or dinners or teas, not even a hunt until they were safely wed. Not even for the young prince. 

Instead, they were trotted out like a well trained broodmare for prospective husbands to check their teeth and put them though the paces. Any omega worth their dowry trunk should be able to host a dinner party, dress well, paint and sew, maybe play an instrument or sing, or speak a bit of Latin all without making the outrageous faux pas of being too educated. A bit of eccentricity might be acceptable-omegas were well known to be flighty, silly things, after all-but nothing so unfortunate as being opinionated or well read. 

“Yes?” 

“Castiel?” A little blond head poked around the heavy, dark wood of his door. Sammy, then. He adored his little brother, truly. His gentle, curious nature and calf-eyes so very much like Mother's were easy to love. Still, he wished the boy were anywhere else right now. “Michael says it's time to come downstairs.” 

“Of course. Walk with me?” 

Slightly sticky fingers clasped his hand as they made their way downstairs. The governess must have had to resort to bribery when Hael and Sammy found out they were to eat in the nursery tonight, the jammy evidence still clinging stubbornly to the little one's hands. 

He found he didn't mind as the boy chattered about his morning. Schoolwork and older sisters were well-worn ground, and anything was preferable to dwelling on tonight. 

The guests would be arriving soon-Father's friends and Michael's of course, and fully vetted before the evening. They had to be, it was their first proper dinner party since Mother's death, and the first Castiel was to host. He'll call himself lucky if tonight is only a _minor_ disaster. 

Though he'd been smaller than the twins at the time, Castiel could still remember his mother's grand fetes. They'd been too young to attend, of course, but Anna had been insistent. Her temper was fierce, even as a small girl in short skirts. 

Gabriel had been the one to show them just where to hide so they wouldn't be seen, though he claimed the hidden corner of the grand staircase was Michael's discovery. It had been the perfect place for two grinning children to play spy. For Castiel, it had almost been like the Heaven His Holiness spoke of, all gilded marble, with the smell of beeswax and rich food permeating every memory. He could have spent hours watching that sea of pastel silks, dotted here and there with shoals of somber alpha black. 

Tonight, the guests will still have their outdoor clothes spirited away by a footman in white and gold livery, but the Winter Palace is long gone now-converted into a university. It's been replaced by an only relatively more modest manor house in the country. Gas lamps light the rooms now, and it's even odds on whether the guests will arrive in a coach and four, or a sleek and modern auto. 

Upstairs in his library, Father and Michael were already entertaining. His companion, known to Castiel simply as Metatron, had been here nearly a week and wasn't likely to leave anytime soon-he's become Father's closest advisers. 

It would be up to Castiel, then, to greet his guests as they arrived, with no one but the butler at his side. Would tongues be wagging tomorrow about Father or himself? And more importantly-which did he prefer? 

The first to arrive was an associate of his brother's that Castiel has never met-an attractive, marriage minded matriarch with severe chestnut hair and a pair of pretty, blonde daughters. Michael spoke of her often enough, and rarely in flattering terms. 

“The Lady of El, Mrs. Naomi Harel, and daughters.” 

They are, naturally, assumed to know who Castiel is already-there will be no scenting and no further introduction. The ladies bow, the youngest with a smile that a crocodile would find discomforting. 

“Welcome to Antioch Hall, Lady El.” 

Misters Azazel Gobel and Zachariah Gottschalk, when they appear close on the Harels' heels and smelling of petrol and exhaust, didn't bother to look Castiel's way. He didn't mind in the slightest, the strong smell is making his stomach roll. They're ushered into the parlor as the rest of the family descend the stairs. 

It's unfortunate that no one has managed to get Metatron to dress for the evening, the bright pattern of his smoking jacket a stark contrast to Father and Michael in their black tie and coats and Anna in her fashionable black and mauve. Still, Father was fond of the man, the two of them always closeted away somewhere, the day to day running of the house left to his siblings. To expect one without the other was like wishing for a warm and mild February. 

It's nearing the dinner hour, now, and the guest of honor hasn't shown. His first dinner is already shaping up to be a flop, and they haven't even entered the dining room. Castiel has no real choice, he has guests to attend to and can't hold dinner for one woman. Worse, his sister has been left to entertain while he's busy gathering wool. 

“It must be so difficult to stay up to mode with such hair, Your Grace.” The elder Harel girl's smile was honey sweet and just as artificial as the impossibly blue trim on her gown. 

“I've found that Mr. Rossetti and his friends had the idea.” 

“The _artist_?” She says it like the word leaves a foul taste in her mouth. “Are you to tell us you've abandoned corsets and march with the suffragettes?” 

“Nothing so scandalous, I'm afraid, Miss Ruby. Only that the new dyes from the mainland seem harsh and unkind to the local ladies.” It took Castiel longer than he'd admit to realize Anna was flirting in her own sharp way. She was ever the exclamation point where a full stop should be, and he loved her for it. 

“The softer hues of Ms. Rosen's natural dyes seem to favor our fair Levarien complexions. It's one of her designs I'm wearing tonight.” 

If he's not mistaken, Miss Ruby seems to enjoy Anna's teasing, too. For all that she was trying to feign annoyance, there was a bit of a smile hiding around her eyes. 

“Tell us, Your Grace, what do you think of this omega designer?” Mrs. Naomi on the other hand, was less interested in dresses and more in steering her daughters back to a more appropriate quarry. 

“I'm sure Anna is more knowledgeable than I, considering Ms. Rosen hasn't taken an interest in trousers yet, but knowing that the country has moved so far forward is encouraging.” 

“Omegas and women,” Mr. Gobel cut in from where the men had continued discussing their transactions. “Both only fit for the delicate work of managing a home, and not the... _stresses_ of running a business. 

And were it up to me, the distinction between the two wouldn't be so great. They start getting ideas, and forgetting their place-wearing trousers and working outside the home. Next thing you know they're wanting to vote or join the military.” 

The ladies seemed to find Mr. Gobel immensely clever, smiling behind delicately gloved hands and sharing knowing looks between themselves. 

  
***

A week earlier, and Gabriel has found Castiel and Samandriel at their lessons. For the elder, it will be his last-one final attempt at the perfect dinner menu before he has to devise them on his own, without the help of a tutor.

“Cassie! Sammy! Just the baby brothers I wanted! Hard at work?” 

“ _Yes_.” He didn't bother to look up from his copies of Godey's and Omega's Journal, his time was short enough without his brother sticking an oar in. 

Gabriel, undeterred, only slings his arms around their shoulders, pulling them both away from their work. Up close, his warm body smelled of imported cinnamon and chocolate and smokey fires. He's been hiding out in the kitchen again, bothering the staff and no doubt making a mess of lunch. 

“Not any-mo-o-re!” 

Gabriel had hauled them off, not to the kitchen or garden, as Castiel might have guessed, but to Father's library. He'd rarely had the opportunity to see it, himself. The idea of an omega wasting time on books and maps was laughable, but Castiel decided in that moment that he wanted more of the lovely, sun soaked room. 

“Though you might want to see this before Micha sends it off to the tailor.” Gabriel is grinning like a cat in the dairy, gesturing grandly toward a large trunk sitting in the middle of Father's oriental rug. Sammy was too young-and too busy peering around the room with unabashed curiosity-to know it but Castiel did. 

Of course he did. It was monstrous old thing, humpbacked and dark metaled, the pale wood carved in delicate shapes of fruit and flowers and other fertile things. It was Mother's wedding chest, and Grandmother's before her, and Great-Grandmother's before that. A line of omega women-and the odd male-stretching back into the shadows of history. 

Castiel could only stare. He hadn't seen it in years. It had been packed away for safe keeping long before Mother had fallen ill. In fact, he'd forgotten all about it. Oh, he knew, in an off-hand sort of way, that he would have a dowry when he wed, and the old chest would display it during the ceremony, but the actual _seeing_ was a different thing entirely. 

Gabriel, ever impatient, didn't bother to wait for Castiel and threw the lid open with his usual fanfair. Inside rests three neatly bound bolts of cloth that shimmered in the sun like nothing he'd ever seen; silver, gold and a white so bright it hurt to look at. 

Gabriel snatched a small box he'd never seen before from it's nest of silk and forced it into his hands. It was an ingenious little thing with two wings that glided open as the top was lifted. Inside the velvet lined trays was jewelry like he hadn't seen since Father held court in the Winter Palace. Three sets, to be exact, each with cufflinks, a diadem, and earrings, along with fine chains and odd little studs with precious gems. 

He decided they must have been intended to match the cloth, and wondered if they, too, were heirlooms. The family certainly had no use for a golden tiara set with topaz and emerald any more than the cloth-of-gold it resembled. Maybe someone had been saving it all these years; it was certainly a dowry fit for the first omega in a generations. 

“Not bad, huh, kiddo? Father is having them made into new coats for you.” Gabriel grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Just be glad he let Anna pick the tailor, or you'd be stuck with something I picked out. Or worse- _Father_. 

Oh, don't forget, I have a gift, too.” He gestured to another small box, this one painted with bees and delicate blossoms and resting with Gabriel's own discarded coat. “Open it before your wedding, and remember we love you. 

It might be rough at first, but anyone tough enough to put up with us can handle growing up. Just-just remember, you're our-my-brother, and I love you, no matter what happens.” 

  
***

The dinner gong rings, bringing Castiel back down to Earth like a shot. Gabriel is in the Orient now, on Father's bidding, and he's here, on his own and one guest too few and on his way to a lovely scandal. 

Michael only takes Naomi's arm, face schooled so not to show his irritation, but Castiel knows it's there-as if his empty arm and the missing dinner guest was entirely his fault. Maybe it was. 

Anna, being escorted by Metaton, doesn't bother to try. Though, if he was honest, she was probably more annoyed with her partner. Metatron is well known for loving the sound of his own voice, especially if he gets to regale a captive audience with tales of his heroism in the war. 

Before Father can lead them in, the butler arriving in the doorway with a knock. 

“The Lady of Sealand, Miss Margaret Masters.” 

She's is everything a well-bred young lady should be: sloe-eyed and fair, without a single dark curl out of place and draped in an ornate, berries and cream colored gown that looked a bit like she'd been trapped in an upholsterer’s shop. The fabric of the skirt subtly shifted between plum and raspberry with each careless gesture-elegant and clever, the bold color a shock without being overly garish. 

She should have been a society darling, invited to every hunt, ball and gala, her image in every publication, not bidding on the hand of the landless third son of a minor island kingdom. Castiel has no Earthly idea why she's here. 

Miss Master's skirts whispered slyly as she glides at Castiel's side. He wonders if they look as awkward as he feels, or whether they make a pretty pair. That was important, or so he'd been told, time and again, by his any number of tutors; it was his job to make sure he made his husband, or wife, look nothing less than spectacular. 

Miss Masters was doing a grand job all on her own. Her gown was simple in cut, for all that it was a wealth of fabric, and almost somber of color. Though the silk itself probably cost a small fortune, the dress was austere, almost masculine, in it's lack of decoration, unlike his own waistcoat and tails. 

“Hi there. I'm Meg.” She didn't have to add ' _and I'm an alpha_ ' but she may as well have, tucking her arm into Castiel's without waiting for his offer. She was bold, she was waspish, she was very nearly rude, and not in the charmingly naughty way of Gabriel or with Anna's coquettish sweetness. 

Dinner was almost bland in comparison to Miss Masters and her wicked tongue as she kept him entertained with careful whispers and wry looks. She was more eloquent with one twitch of her eyebrow than certain other guests managed with a full vocabulary, a fact that had him snickering into his soup more than once. 

He was, in fact, slightly smitten with the lady, despite her strange fascination with pet names. By the time the meal was over and coffee served, Castiel was exhausted but optimistic. His wedding may not be like something from a storybook, but this? This new but solid friendship was more than any young omega could hope for. 

For now, he only wants to sleep and put it all out of his head for a few blessed hours. 

***


End file.
